


spring will come to us clear and bright

by courante



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series), Buzzfeed: Worth It (Web Series), Watcher Entertainment
Genre: Domestic, Drabble, Fluff, Future Fic, M/M, it's mugwort season!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-30
Updated: 2020-03-30
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:29:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23395552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/courante/pseuds/courante
Summary: Ryan and Steven pound mochi (no, not like that.)
Relationships: Ryan Bergara/Steven Lim
Comments: 3
Kudos: 18





	spring will come to us clear and bright

**Author's Note:**

> literally have no idea what this is, probably somewhere between vent fic and uhhhh nostalgic bullshit (it's [qingming festival](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Qingming_Festival) this weekend! which is barely relevant here tbh. plot devices, you know.) point is im getting ryan/steven brainrot at work since no wfh please send help

Ryan's familiar with the taste of mugwort. It's not an ingredient that finds itself onto his plate often, nor is it something that he particularly likes. A grassy, medicinal taste of childhood, buried in flour-patted confectionery that sticks to his teeth.

A clip is playing from Steven's laptop on the kitchen counter; an old lady gestures animatedly at the camera, and there are no subtitles. Ryan watches her knead the dark green dough until it glistens. Watches her roll in bean paste and something that looks like chorizo but definitely isn't. Watches the steam rise up from large wicker baskets fill the screen for a brief moment before it fades completely.

The ache in his muscles is unreal, after pounding for god knows how long, and the entire table is covered in green powder. Ryan looks down at his flour-covered hands and grumbles something about all the dishes. 

"It's not like you're the one doing them."

Steven always insists on washing them by hand, which doesn't weird Ryan out as much as it exhausts him. He just thinks it's pointless and he could probably use that time to force-convert Steven into Defunctland videos or kiss him silly pressed up against the lukewarm surface of the fridge. But he's not gonna argue, not today.

 _Kusamochi_ is for Girls' Day, he'd learned growing up. Eaten for medical benefits, or something like that; he wouldn't know. _Chau-a-ke_ , he's told, is eaten for remembrance.

The steamer hums pleasantly in the background as the video comes to an end. Something else starts playing, but at this point Ryan's not paying attention anymore.

"Dude, it's taking forever." Steven raises an eyebrow at him and Ryan flicks a stray piece of coagulated rice flour at him, prompting an indignant gasp as it lands on freshly-dyed blue hair. And just like that, contemplative silence turns into all-out war.

"I told you chorizo would be great inside this."

"Did I even ask."

Ryan grins at him from below. "You just can't handle the truth."

Steven mutters something about popcorn and turns on the TV. They argue a bit about what to watch—Steven still doesn't care about Disney lore and Ryan's sick of _Princess Pearl_ reruns and both of them are still kind of sticky after the food fight. So, _Hot Ones_ it is.

The _kuih_ is still slightly steaming as he bites into another, this one sweet with bean paste. They hadn't bothered marking them ("It'll be Russian Roulette, but fun!" "I still remember that Christmas party, you asshole.") There's no wasabi to assault either of their tastebuds this time, but he's probably going to be flossing bean skins from his gums for a while after.

Shane calls them in the middle of Rhett and Link hiccuping uncontrollably on screen, something about an upcoming advertising opportunity. 

"You should come over," Ryan complains towards the end, nudging towards Steven's direction. "He doesn't get Kevin Perjurer like you do."

"Sounds like you should date Kevin then," Shane says wryly. Steven's expression is positively smug and Ryan wants to smack it off his face, as childish as it sounds, and preferably with his own face. "And for the record, Steven, I don't get it either."

" _Un_ believable."

"—Well then, guess I'll leave you two to your... lovers' quarrel."

"Shut up, Shane."

Ryan settles back into the couch after the call and promptly fails at ignoring Steven's leaning into him like an oversized cat with weirdly crunchy fur. "I can't handle the truth, huh."

"Oh, get over yourself."

The apartment feels like the aftermath of a sauna, and there's still too many dishes in the sink. Ryan thinks maybe he should stick them in the dishwasher when Steven's not looking. Still, the place looks more lived in now that he's coming over more frequently, mussing up the once-austere space with a jacket over the sofa and old basketball in the corner of the living room and spare pajamas that Steven refuses to wear when Ryan's not over because _they have_ holes _in them, Ryan, you live like this?_

"Not anymore," he says out loud, and Steven gives him a curious look. "Was just—nothing. You still watching?"

"No, you can turn it off." But Ryan doesn't because he's petty and he likes the white noise. Steven's been using some kind of ginseng shampoo recently, says it's good for color-treated hair. Ryan inhales but all he smells is the yomogi powder that's probably infused itself with both of them now and it reminds him of holidays running along the beach with his cousins and tumbling hungrily through his grandmother's kitchen door.

"We're eating ghost food," Ryan blurts out suddenly. Steven pauses before slowly pulling away and looking at him. "You said people—ghosts."

"...You know food is usually for people, right? Like afterwards?"

"I mean, yes, but, no." Pause. Steven is too patient sometimes, Ryan thinks as he scrambles for the right words. Too understanding, or at least he tries to, even in these moments when Ryan has absolutely no idea what just came out of his mouth. "Okay, fuck, that sounds... incredibly stupid."

"Least you own up to it."

“I mean—shut up—it’s like.” He looks up at the ceiling and sees Steven following his gaze from the periphery. It’s kind of cute, though the intensity’s maybe a little too reminiscent of the time he’d gotten Ryan naked in front of an entire Facebook Live audience. “Like. I wonder if after I die I’ll still like the same kind of food I eat now. Man, I hope Ghost Ryan would still like cheesy gordita crunches. Would kinda suck if not.”

“Well _I_ hope ghost Ryan would you know, move on instead of haunting a Taco Bell.”

“You’re no fun.”

“Think about the _nightmares_ the employees would get, Ryan. Your _conscience_.”

Ryan snorts and turns his gaze back to Steven, whose looking so weirdly fond at him it gives him those goosebumps, in a nice way, but still. Some things never change. He shuffles himself over a bit until Steven’s hair isn’t making his neck itch that much anymore and they’re tangled up in the novelty blanket Matt had sent last Christmas, the one that’s just a giant tortilla. It doesn’t go with the clean aesthetic of Steven’s apartment but then again nothing does anymore.

“We should probably put the rest of that in the fridge,” Steven murmurs against Ryan’s neck, like he’s already falling asleep. The clock on the wall says ten-thirty and Ryan shakes his head in wonder.

“You are truly just an old man, huh.”

“Whatever, you’re like, two weeks younger than me.”

“Two weeks to grow some extra _brains_ , baby!”

“Oh my God…”

The TV is screening some Netflix documentary about the history of jazz when Ryan finally shuts it off, returning quiet to the room aside from the occasional flap of some papers in the breeze. He should shut the window too; LA’s still a bit cold right now, though Steven would protest otherwise. Ryan shoves the dishes in the dishwasher while Steven’s in the bathroom and slides the platter of _kuih_ artfully in the crowded fridge. His memory may be kind of all over the place, but at least he knows how to clean up outside his own home.

He replies to a few texts— _Yeah, Mom, I’m at Steven’s, love you; can we change the meeting time tomorrow to three? Thanks; matt, that’s disgusting and i don’t want to see your opinions about bears ever again_. Ryan looks out the window one last time before closing it, at the cars below trucking along the road, and the city lights for once looking somewhat free of smoggy interference.

Spring is coming, slowly but surely. Maybe he’ll broach the idea of working from the park tomorrow, just to get his feet in the grass. Wouldn’t just be Steven calling him an idiot then, but he’d be okay with that, maybe. Just an idea. Ryan closes his eyes and listens to the wind amid a distant honk and door slam and yelling: _ah, Los Angeles, never change._

Steven’s calling at him from inside, something about a clogged sink. Ryan lets the curtain fall as he goes to investigate, taking two steps at a time.

**Author's Note:**

> botanists dont @ me i know yomogi and jersey cudgrass arent the same subspecies but they taste the same to me, Person Who Shoves Every Green Mochi In Sight Into Mouth, SO THERE


End file.
